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Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the dif

ference Betwixt the confant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him ; but, for my part, I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him; For what had he to do to chide at me ? He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black : And, now I am remembred, scorn'd at me; I marvel, why I anfwer'd not again; But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou Silvius ?

Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.

Phe. I'll write it straight;
The matters in my head, and in my heart,
I will be bitter with him, and passing short:
Go with me, Silvius.


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Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques.


Pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted

with thee. Rof. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

Rof. Those, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards. Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad, and say nothing.


Rof. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the foldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objeds, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humourous sadness.

Rof. A traveller! by my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd me experience.

Enter Orlando. Rof. And your experience makes you fad: I had rather have a fool io make me merry, than experience to make me sad, and to travel for it too.

Orla. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind !

Jaq. Nay, then God b'w'y you, an you talk in blank verse.



AREWEL, monsieur traveller; look, you

lisp, and wear strange fuits; disable all'the benefits of your own Country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think, you have swam in a Gondola. Why, how now, Orlando, where have you been all this while ? You a lover? an you

serve such another trick, never come in my sight more.

Orla. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.



D 5

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ! he that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part

of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be faid fof him, that Cupid hath clapt him o'th' houlder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.

Orla. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Ros. Nay, án you be so tardy, come no more in my fight: I had as lief be wood of a snail.

Orla. Of a snail?

Rof. Ay, of a snail; for tho' he comes flowly, he carries his house on his head: a better jointure, I think, than you make a-woman; besides, he brings his destiny with him.

Orla. What's that?

Rof. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the flander of his wife.

Orla. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

Rof. And I am your Rosalind.

Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.

Rof. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent: what would you say to me now, an I were your very, very Rosalind?

Orla. I would kiss, before I spoke. Rof. Nay, you were better speak first, and 'when you were gravell’d for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking, God warn us, matter, the cleanlieft shift is to kiss.

Orla. How if the kiss be denied ?

Rof. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

Orla. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?


Rof. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. Orla. What, of


fuit ? Rof. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your fuit. Am not I your Rosalind ?

Orla. I take some joy to say, you are; because I would be talking of her.

Rof. Well, in her person, I say, I will not have you. Orla. Then in mine own person I die.

Rof. No, faith, die by attorney; the poor world is almost fix thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause: Troilus had his brains dalh'd out with a Grecian club, yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have liv'd many a fair year, tho' Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drown'd; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was,-Hero of Seftos. But these are all lies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

Orla. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for I protest, her frown might kill me.

Rof. By this hand, it will not kill a fly; but come; now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant it.

Orla. Then love me, Rosalind. Rof. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all.

Orla. And wilt thou have me?
Rof. Ay, and twenty such.
Orla. What say'st thou?
Rof. Are you not good ?
Orla. I hope so.
Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good



thing ? come, fifter, you shall be the priest, and marry us.

Give me your hand, Orlando : what do you say, Sifter ?

Orla. Pray thee, marry us.
Cel. I cannot say the words.
Rof. You must begin,-Will you, Orlando-

Cel. Go to; will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?

Orla. I will
Rof. Ay, but when ?
Orla. Why now, as fast as she can marry us.

Rof. Then you must say, I take thee Rosalind for wife.

Orla. I take thee Rosalind for wife.

Rof. I might ask you for your commission, but I do take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a girl goes before the priest, and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions.

Orla. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd.

Rof. Now tell me, how long would you have her, after you have pofleft her,

Orla. For ever and a day.

Rof. Say a day, without the ever: no, no, Orlando, men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives; I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain ; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey; I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain; and I will do that, when you are dispos’d to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when you are inclin'd to weep. Orla. But will my Rosalind do so? Rof. By my life, she will do as I do. Orla. O, but she is wise.

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* and that when you are inclin'd to deep. We should read, to weep.


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